Far From The World
by El Chacal
Summary: A sunny beach, fresh food and a joy ride. Even for a moment, he felt something he hadn't felt for a long time. Peace. Then he met Mr. Mayhem.


Far From The World

By: El Chacal

Disclaimer: Boardwalk Empire & Sons of Anarchy belong to Terrence Winter and Kurt Sutter respectively.

* * *

His grasp of time was lost. How long did he lay there on the ground in the fetal position, crying over Dominique? Juice couldn't say.

For a time, the room was left empty save for him and Nero, who had to step outside to get a hold of himself. There was no sound made except for his whimpers and sobs.

The sound of a tiny piano startled him out of bed. Looking around, he found himself not in a room at Diosa Norte. It looked bare of any style with cobwebs in the corners and a feel as though it had not been inhabited for 90 years. A Victrola phonograph was playing, which was where the piano music was coming from.

Looking around, he was more than shocked to find his cut gone as well as his clothes. In their place was a folded white shirt laid out on a dresser with a thin black bow tie. Walking over to a nearby closet, he found a brown-hued 3 piece suit.

Seeing that his options were few, Juice opted to try on the clothes. A wave of calmness fell upon him as he buttoned his waistcoat. Looking in the drawers of the dresser, he found a pair of black shoes and thin argyle socks.

Juice never said a word as he fixed his tie while looking at himself in the mirror for the first time since he was a child. Walking out into the hall, he found a straw skimmer hat and spectacle sunglasses on a small table just a hop and skip away from his room.

With the hat on his head and the sunglasses over his eyes, Juice walked down the stairs to the first floor, where he was greeted by the smell of the ocean breeze from an open window. It was a bright and sunny day outside.

Stepping outside, his feet took him down several steps until he was standing out on the sands of a beach with dark blue water crashing to the shore in small waves. Juice breathed in the salty breeze and sighed in peace for the first time in what felt like an eternity as the sun shined warmly on his skin.

Turning around to look at the place he just came out of, Juice turned his gaze up and saw the sign that read 'Albatross Hotel'.

In the distance, he saw the bright and vibrant boardwalk where people lived like royalty, children munched on taffy and licorice while the adults reveled in the beach or in the restaurants.

The scent of food instantly caught his attention. Three feet away from him was a picnic spread laid out on a red plaid blanket. Opening the basket, Juice could not recall a time in his life when he ever had a picnic by the beach or when he was so happy to see food. The fresh cobbler was sweet like honey, the pastrami sandwich was succulent, the brisket was overflowing with flavor and the bottle of Bacardi Gold rum was amazing.

With his stomach filled with something far greater than his inner loathing and guilt, Juice laid down and watched seagulls fly over the water. The sound of panting caught his attention. A dark-furred dog was standing next to him. "Who are you?" Juice asked as though he expected the dog to answer him. It licked his cheek and ran off to the side of the hotel. Juice followed the dog and found himself staring at a forest green 1927 Packard 4th Series Six Model 426 Runabout Roadster stood there in front of him.

Wasting no time, he looked around the car and found the keys in the ignition. Starting up the engine, Juice drove off down the road, feeling an exhilaration run through him that made his dead self begin to stir again from within.

Suddenly, he saw someone on the street in front of him. He hit the brakes fast and swerved, causing the car to turn into a road block.

Standing across from him at 20 yards away with a black Harley Davidson motorcycle stood himself dressed in a cut stained with blood, his face beaten and bruised.

Revving up the car, Juice pulled back in reverse to right the Packard to where he was staring right at his clone through the windshield. Shifting the gears forward, Juice hit the gas and roared toward what he saw as every bad thing he ever did in hopes of running it down.

In the blink of an eye, his other self pulled an Enfield m1917 rifle from out of nowhere before transforming into a tall man dressed in a black suit with fair skin and a mask covering the left side of his face.

He took aim and fired.

In the blink of an eye, Juice shot out of bed to find himself right back in Diosa Norte.

* * *

A/n: I figured that, with everything that has happened, there ought to be some reprieve of sorts from all the doom and gloom.


End file.
